


Special Agent Pixiebob

by Moxibustion (RyuuzaKochou)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Warehouse 13
Genre: Artefact Recovery, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Caper Fic, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Day Two: Request, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt Tim Drake, Jason Todd is Robin, Jason Todd is So Done, JayTim Week 2021, M/M, Not Her Sidekick No Matter What She Says, Tim Drake Has Secrets, Tim Drake Is Catwoman's Summer Intern, Tim Drake Is The World's Smallest [CLASSFIED], Tiny Tim Is Sassy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 21:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30078666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyuuzaKochou/pseuds/Moxibustion
Summary: Robin is up against Catwoman's partner in crime, some tiny kid in an absolutely-not-adorable cat suit with ears. This brings with it certain complications, such as:1) They weren't aware Catwoman even had a partner.2) This complete(ly cute) failure of a cat burglar has a request to make of Robin of all people and3) Apparently has so many unbelievable secrets of his own that complications one and two are completely, totally normal and not at all weird in comparison.Robin doesn't get paid enough to deal with any of this. Especially when the Secret Service gets involved. And what the hell is Warehouse 13?
Relationships: Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Selina Kyle, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 21
Kudos: 225
Collections: JayTim Week 2021





	Special Agent Pixiebob

**Author's Note:**

> My brain is such a weird place sometimes. I remember loving the Warehouse 13 TV show back when it aired; I loved the idea that the Government needed off-the-wall agents to deal objects that were semi-magical and semi-sci-fi, that had to be policed and protected lest they do massive damage. I thought to myself; what if Gotham existed in that world? Because Gotham would be an ARTEFACT GENERATOR. And they wouldn't be harmless artefacts either; everything is Gotham is twisted for the worse and the artefacts it begets would be no different.
> 
> So, maybe the Warehouse would need, like, a branch office, just for Gotham? And since Warehouse agents need to be either bonafide geniuses or have some sort of extra sensory ability, usually inherited through a bloodline, the Agents in Gotham would have to be, like, extra, extra special, right? And we all know that Gotham generates those with regularity too.
> 
> And thus, this story was born.
> 
> All credit to my abundance of betas: [Bumpkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bumpkin/pseuds/Bumpkin), unoriginalnerd, FanOfSiriusBlack, kitkat all on the [Capes & Coffee Discord Server](https://discord.gg/bGhpCDn)
> 
> JayTimWeek Day Two: Request

“Um, I have a request!”

“So do I, you little brat cat!” Robin scowled as he lunged again. “Hold still!”

The kid - a tiny, little eeny weeny thing that Robin could not take seriously because he was wearing a headband with little cat ears on them that Robin _refused_ to find cute - just eeped and ducked out of the way, whipping out his electromag filament bola and managing to tangle Robin’s forearm and yank him off balance, causing Robin to stumble.

“Um, I can’t really do that, sorry!” the cat kid blurted in a mad rush. “So, um, about my request…?”

Robin’s eyes narrowed at the bola line. He snapped the slack up in one big loop with his arm and _yanked_. The kid got his scrawny little (cute) butt dragged into grabbing range. Robin lunged…

… and grabbed empty air as the kid pulled off a literal flip, using his damn shoulders as a damn vault. 

Well, two could play at _that_ game. Robin tumbled rapidly in the opposite direction, yanking the cat kid off his beautifully ascribed arc to land with yelp on the rooftop, ignominiously face first. “...ow.” the kid muttered.

Robin huffed out a breath. “You’re pretty good, kid, but nowhere near as good as _me_.”

“I know,” muttered the cat kid, whose (adorable) little ears were now all askew, although the mask was still firmly attached. “I’d never be as good as _Robin_. Who’d ever be as good as Robin?”

Robin hesitated. The kid’s voice was a hundred and ten percent sincere. He really, honestly and truly believed that Robin was at some sort of peak of herodom, which was both flattering and weird, because that’s not how Robin felt about himself _at all_. 

Honestly, he wasn’t _exactly_ sure why they were fighting. Well, no, he knew. Catwoman had just robbed some private collectors' vault and Batman and Robin had given chase because, no matter how much of a total and complete asshole the rich dude likely was, robbing him was _still_ a crime. The Bat and Catwoman were duking it out on some other rooftop; Robin got stuck with the sidekick. Also _surprise_ ; they hadn’t known she _had_ one of those.

But there he was; helping Catwoman with her daring escape from the dynamic duo. Even though it had to be a recent development she must have trained him up a little, because there was nothing but Catwoman’s sheer grace and verve in some of the kid’s moves. Yet, despite the company he kept, he claimed to be a fan of Robin. 

And also, despite his implied position on the hero-villain spectrum, Robin was getting good vibes from the kid. Batman always told him to back up his instincts with facts but Robin knew his vibes were never wrong. He was getting nothing but good vibes here. 

Something was off here. None of this added up. It warranted further investigation. 

The fact that the kid was way too adorable to go super villain had nothing whatsoever to do with it.

“If you think I’m so good,” Robin asked the kid, gently tugging the bola out of said kid’s grasp just in case. “Why did you team up with Catwoman? I mean, she’s a criminal. You seem a bit young to be embarking on a life of crime… Catboy?” he tried.

The kid huffed, straightening his ears. “First of all, my name is not _Catboy_.”

“Stray?” Robin tried, grinning at the adorable little pout he was getting.

“No! My name is…” his little nose scrunched up just like a kitten’s. “You know what? My name’s not important. I didn’t _team up_ with Catwoman. Like, I’m not her partner in crime or anything. Just as well, because she reckons I’d make it big in the cat burglary business. I have a knack, she said.” He seemed really proud of that fact, the adorable little dumbass. 

“Kid,” Robin was trying to ooze tolerant calm as he sat down next to the kid as the little guy despondently wriggled himself into a sitting position. “You literally just got caught red handed _at a heist_ . I hate to tell you this but that kinda _does_ make you her partner in crime.”

The kid had a weird expression of dawning realization on his face on having these facts laid out for him. It was like the moment a scrap of fluff would pounce on the moving fuzzy thing and suddenly realizing it was a German Shepherd’s tail.

“It don’t seem to me like you _want_ a life of crime though, so why are you doing this? She ain’t forcing you or anything, is she?” Robin had a hard time believing Catwoman would pull something like that. She wasn’t exactly on the side of angels, but she had definite opinions about kids in masks. 

“What? No!” the kid was all outrage at this insinuation. If the kid had an actual tail, it would have puffed up. _“I_ tracked _her_ down. I asked her to teach me! Not, like, stealing exactly, just how to get in and out of places. Just that, really. I’m not really her sidekick. I’m not, like, permanently employed by her or anything. I’m sort of her summer intern.”

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. “Kid,” he said slowly. “You are _interning_ with a _known thief_. A criminal. Whom you sought employment from in order to learn some not-so-legal skills. You were helping her _steal things_. You get that that makes you a criminal too, right? I mean, not sorta a criminal or a misdemeanor type of thing either; like, that’s an actual crime you can actually go to juvie for. You get that, right?”

“I wasn’t stealing anything!” the kid protested shrilly. “I was stealing something _back_.”

Robin blinked. “Who the fuck did that jewelry box thingamie belong to, exactly?”

“Me,” the kid replied, staring at his hands. Then his brow wrinkled. “Well, kind of. It sort of belongs to the government, too. But it was _my_ job to make sure they stayed safe.” 

Robin brow wrinkled, not remotely sure where to even begin to unpack that. “What the fuck are you talking about? If that thing belongs to the government then that’s their problem. If it belongs to _you_ , then, hell, go to the police! Or call us! We’d’ve helped you. You didn’t need to get breaking and entering lessons from a villain!”

“Catwoman’s not a villain,” the kid retorted hotly. “She’s not a murdering psychopath or anything!”

“She’s a thief! And she’s killed people,” Robin added. Then he made a face. “Admittedly only in self defense. And, okay, she has helped us out on occasion. And I guess she does give a lot of money to charity and also she and B have this weird flirty thing going on that’s a total horror show to watch, like, dude, what a slow motion trainwreck, and… you know what? This line’s getting blurrier the more I explain it. _Anyway_ ,” Robin got himself back on track. “Still a criminal. Crime isn’t the way to solve your problems. If you really believe in _me_ you have to believe that!”

The kid looked away. “It’s complicated,” he mumbled. “It’s the only way I could think of to get them all back. Some of them are… dangerous. And the people that have them don’t really want to give them back, either.”

“If they’re dangerous, _you_ should _definitely_ not be going after them,” Robin said sternly, even as he tried to figure out why some old jewellery might be dangerous. “You should leave that sort of thing to the professionals, kid. People like Batman and me. People with training.”

“That’s what I was trying to ask you!” the kid retorted, aggrieved. “Can you teach me? I mean, do you have, like, some kind of internship program I can sign up for? Or, if you don’t, does Batman, I guess?”

Robin bluescreened. “What the _actual fuck?!”_

“I’m a fast learner,” the cat suited boy said in a rush, seemingly determined to get his entire resume in before common sense caught up and kicked the snot out of him. “I’m punctual and good with computers. I’ve managed large scale databases and I’ve had a lot of experience with research and filing systems. I know all sorts of protocols for handling artefacts and old texts, how to maintain preservation environments and the basics of archeological excavation, which isn’t very different from forensics. Oh,” the kid added as an afterthought to that torrent of information. “I also know how to make coffee.”

“That’s… we don’t… arg!” Robin tried to get his brain back online as the kid stared up hopefully at him. Catwoman had taught him the sad kitten look as well, it seemed. “What the hell…. Why the hell would you want to intern with Batman?”

“Not Batman, really. More you,” the kid said shyly. 

Robin was caught between being completely baffled and a tiny bit flattered. “To learn what?”

“To fight,” the kid replied. “Like, properly fight, not like in a dojo. Catwoman’s great, but she’ll only teach me defensive moves.”

“What the fuck do you think _I’d_ be teaching you?” Robin asked incredulously. “You’re six years old and you weigh as much as one of my boots! I ain’t teaching a baby how to pull off a haymaker!”

“I’m not a baby!” the baby in the adorable cat ears protested. “What _would_ you be willing to teach me, then?”

“Not… oh, you know what? You ain’t pulling that con on me, you little shit!” Robin jabbed a finger at him. “That’s a Catwoman move right there; talk circles ‘round people until they try to logic their way into doing what you want. I ain’t bitin’, kitten. I ain’t teaching you _squat_ and neither will Batman! You ain’t supposed to be a criminal and I sure as shit ain’t helping you become a vigilante, either!”

They stared at each other for a long moment.

Then the kid’s face crumpled, his shoulders drooping dejectedly. He made a little noise that did _not_ tug on Robin’s heartstrings, okay? His heartstrings were made of fucking titanium. 

“Okay,” the kid mumbled to his hands. “If you say so.” He gave a little sniffle.

Robin scowled. “I’m not falling for fake crying, either,” he growled, mostly to cover up his rising discomfort.

“I’m _not_ crying,” the kid snapped at him. Then he turned away, twiggy arms crossed against his skinny chest. “I asked and you said no and that’s all I have to talk to you about so you can… can go back to Batman or whatever.”

Robin stared at the sullenly curled back of the pre-teen. It could be some reverse psychology grift - another Catwoman special - but Robin considered himself pretty adept at reading faces and the sheer disappointment he’d seen had been real enough. He was suddenly at a loss on how to proceed.

“So…” he tried. “How the fuck did you manage to track down Catwoman? Bossman regularly tries and fails. You musta had some gimmick.”

Silence.

“Summer intern, huh? Paid, I bet. _Her_ , I mean; she don’t work for free, even when adorable little kids are doing the asking.”

Silence.

“Does she give you assignments? Essays? Lab sessions and tutorials? Do you have to get permission slips and insurance waivers for field missions, or is that covered in your contract?”

 _Silence_.

Robin grinned. Definitely getting closer to a nerve. If this little brat thought he could outlast Robin using the silent treatment, he was in for a rude awakening. Jason Todd was a Grandmaster Annoying Little Shit. Nightwing _still_ thought so. “Definitely a contract. I woulda loved to see the notary’s face. I’m amazed she took ya on, really. She works alone. Not like Batman ‘I-Work-Alone-Except-For-These-Fifty-Various-Team-Members-And-Associates’. Really, really alone. What are your training modules like? Laser nets 101, pickpocketing, ancient to modern practices, the wire-rig and YOU, safety and set-up. Does she give you a grade for completed assignments, A to F? I think you mighta lost some points off your Criminal GPA tonight kid; tripping the sensor plate was a rookie mistake.”

Bingo. The kid was an A student with an A student’s ego. “I _did not_ trigger it!” the kid burst out angrily. “There was a redundant system around the target that fell too early.” Them he slammed his mouth shut, looking all huffy and furious as he realized Robin had successfully needled him into responding. He turned away again, back stiff and unyielding.

But Robin had his number now. “So you’re a little bit of a perfectionist, huh? You don’t like it when things don’t go to plan. You probably do six hours of research before you decide what to have for breakfast. Hell, you probably forget to _eat_ more like. Good at learning, terrible at self care. Your workbench is something out of an OCD textbook but your room’s a mess. Am I getting warm?”

_Silence._

“Come on, kid, I can do this all night,” Robin pressed, grinning. The kid was unreasonably adorable when he was all pouty and mad. “You’ll talk eventually. You can talk to me here or you can talk to the Bat. An’ he ain’t gonna stand for the brat offensive, you feel me? What’s your name? Oh, silly me, it don’t matter, your DNA’s all over me. We can probably at least get a familial match, given the two degrees of separation between civilians and crime in this town.”

“That’s classified,” the kid snapped at him tersely.

“Who stole the jewelry box from you? Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“None of your business!”

Robin persisted. “What the hell makes a bunch of old jewelry _dangerous_?” Because that one really stumped him. “Come on, your grand career as a kitten burglar is not getting off the ground. You ain’t that good at it and, anyway, we caught you the first time out. What does that tell you? You’re a smart kid, you have to know we’ll be keeping an eye on you from now on whether you like it or not. _Even_ if you flash your cute scared kitten face at us. You shoulda tried _that_ first rather than fighting. Come on, what’s with the jeweler?”

“ _Classified_!” The kid bit out. “Look, I made my request and you said no! What is this? Death by a thousand annoyances? You want me to humiliate myself in front of you just a bit more for kicks and giggles? Leave me _alone_!” he yelled. “Just… just leave me alone,” he added dejectedly. 

Robin softened a little bit. Maybe he was going a bit far, mocking him. The kid’s real ears were practically glowing in the dark and he was genuinely upset. It occurred to Robin that it must have taken a lot for the kid to screw up his moxie and actually confront his hero to ask what he’d asked, and he was clearly hurt in being rejected. 

What else could he do, though? The kid shouldn’t be out here.

“Look, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m trying to help you,” Robin tried again. “You just got caught in the midst of a felony crime. I’ve got two options - I can march your skinny little butt down to the nearest police station and have them _arrest_ you and, take it from me kid, that's the least fun you’ll ever have, or you can tell me your name and address and I can take you home with a warning. Either way your parents will have to get involved but trust me being grounded is better than waiting for a court date. Come on, kid,” Robin smiled gently at the kid’s stiffening back. The threat of parental involvement seemed to have reached him. “You’re way too young to be out here pulling shit like this. It’s not a game. You’re gonna get hurt if you keep this up. I’m pretty damn sure your parents would want you out here, no matter the reason. No matter if they got robbed and you just want to get their stuff back.” 

Bingo. The kid went taunt as a bridge cable. Robin felt for him; the kid was just trying to make something shitty right, get some justice. He was just being a dumbass in the way he went about it.

“You want to talk to my parents,” the kid said bitterly.

“It’s either them or the police,” Robin replied. He felt sorry for the kid but he couldn’t let this slide either. “And you don’t want the police option, I can tell.”

“Better break out your Bat Ouija board then,” came the sarcastic retort.

Oh.

Robin sat back. That added a whole new and sad dimension to the proceedings. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, because he genuinely was. The tension in the kid’s back hadn’t been fear; it had been sadness. 

The kid just scrubbed his face sight unseen and continued to pointedly ignore him.

Robin sighed. Okay, so he was kind of getting a picture of what was happening here. Cat kid lost his parents and maybe some of the estate got sold off, or maybe some stuff had been genuinely stolen because Gotham estate agents have sticky fingers. The kid was out here trying to make it right. Only he was some kind of mad genius kid who thought his best bet was teaming up with Catwoman to turn himself into a retrieval specialist because, you know, that’s a totally practical and sane plan.

Then again, speaking from the perspective of a sidekick to an emotionally constipated, repressed furry while in a traffic light costume with pixie boots, Robin didn’t feel like he had any right to judge anyone for their responses to trauma, good or bad.

“Look, I get the appeal, okay?” Robin continued when the silence stretched. “You put on a mask and become someone else and it feels like you got some control back. Hell, I’ll even give you points for originality kid, because getting Catwoman to actually agree to this was no mean feat. I respect that. But this life is fucking dangerous, kitty. Catwoman’s probably tryin’ to keep you out of trouble, but she ain’t a team player and push come to shove, she a pragmatist. She’ll dump you to save her skin if she has to. It won’t be personal, it’s just cats ain’t exactly known for loyalty, even to their kittens. You can’t trust her to keep you safe. Whoever you’re living with now is a much safer bet. And whatever you lost, we can help you with, okay? You don’t gotta embark on this big quest; you just gotta ask. Give us the deets, we’ll check it out for you. That’s what we _do_.” Robin tried reaching out to the kid’s shoulder but the kid just shook his off, head bowed. “Come on, don’t be like that.”

“I can’t do this because it’s dangerous? You’re nothing but a hypocrite,” the kid shot back in a low voice, clearly on the edge of tears.

“Maybe I am,” Robin agreed levelly. “Maybe that makes me the world’s biggest hypocrite because _hello, mask_ , but the only people I care about wear masks too, and they’re watching out for me out here. Who’s watching out for you? Not Catwoman; she ducked and ran the first chance she got.” He felt bad for making the kid flinch but it was kind of true. “Come on, someone’s probably waiting and fretting at home, wondering where the hell you are. You shouldn’t do that. You shouldn’t leave people to wait and worry.”

Silence.

Robins vibes were not an exact science. They were never _wrong_ but sometimes they were in conflict with each other, mostly because he could get them about anything; people, objects, places or situations. Like this one time, this was an old guy holding a bank full of people hostage and, like the situation vibe was bad but Robin got nothing but good vibes from the old guy. When they’d dug deeper into the situation they found out he’d been coerced into doing the whole caper by some other assholes holding his grandkids hostage. With no bad motivation or intent, it was pretty clear he was just doing this to protect his family and hadn’t wanted anyone in the bank to get hurt either. He’d wanted to protect people. That was the vibe Robin got.

Robin remembered that case vividly because that was the case that convinced Batman that Jason’s vibes were not just random gut feelings with no basis in hard facts. It had been on Robin’s insistence that they looked deeper into it. His vibes were, under certain, very specific circumstances, just as good as Batman’s cold deductive logic; a fact whose vindication had left Robin feeling smug for weeks.

Well, Robin was getting the same thing now. Good vibes about the kid, _really bad_ vibes about something else. He couldn’t even explain what triggered it.

Maybe it was something in the texture of this silence, the damning way the kid wouldn’t look at him, the little tells in his clenched jaw and curling, clawed fingers. All Robin knew was that this kid had no one. He was either with people who just didn’t give a fuck at all about him or he was literally on his own, with not a soul wondering where he was. 

And while that went a _long_ way to explain how the fuck someone this young had managed to hook up with Catwoman and apparently maintain the connection long term, it still made Robin’s gloved fingertips bite into his palms. This kid wasn’t any older than _him_ when he’d been cast out alone into the big wide cruel world to fend for himself. Hell, at least Little Jay had some street savvy and survival skills under his belt. This kid? Straight white teeth, high-roller accent, naive and hopeful in ways you just don’t ever really get in the slums, this kid didn’t even have that.

“There’s no one?” he asked quietly into the telling, fraught silence, vainly hoping that for once his vibes were off.

“Classified.” Which, really, was a big fat stinking red flag.

Jason made an executive decision; this was above his pay grade. Well, no, actually, of the two members of the dynamic duo fabled in song and story, ersatz social worker was pencilled under _his_ job description, not Batman’s. And if it hadn't been, Robin would have scribbled it in sharpie, ten inches high, because that kind of emotionally fragile procedure was not something you left to _Batman_. At all. Ever.

Unfortunately, payroll and petty cash were firmly and clearly handled in Batman’s department. If he was going to help the kid, he was going to have to check in with the big boss to see what kind of resources they had to work with, here. 

He hit his comm.

He _immediately_ switched off his comm, and promptly prayed for an _entire ocean of brain bleach._ “Oh my fucking _god_ , B! Now? Right the fuck _now_?” He lamented. If he’d had any childhood innocence left, that would have been the final death knell. “Wait a second!” He brightened up and got out his phone.

The cat kid-who-was-definitely-not-Catboy turned around to stare at him in bafflement as he gleefully hit a speed dial.

“Guess who just won the BatCat Rooftop sweepstakes!” he gloated to the person who picked up without letting them get a word in edgewise. “Pay _up_ , loser!”

Silence answered him. And then, “ _Holy impulse control, Batman, WHY?!"_ Nightwing lamented. _“Three more weeks! He just needed to keep it in his suit three more damn weeks, the repressed nymphomaniac!_ ”

“That sounds like a professional assessment, Sex Toy Wonder,” Robin snorted. “But he didn’t and they did it so hellloooooooo payday!”

_“It’s confirmed? It doesn’t count if she lays one on him in a fight, he has to willingly respond. Otherwise that just gross sexual harassment.”_

“Oh, trust me, he’s consenting. And also, stay off his comm line for a while. And also, also, get ready to transfer the filthy lucre ASAP, because I need to pay for a therapist, oh my god,” Robin clamped his hand over his mask in mock trauma.

 _“Welcome to the lesser known and never-celebrated rites of passage of the Robin mantle, Little Wing,_ ” Nightwing was gleefully unsympathetic to Robin’s plight. _“Being witness to ground zero of the BatCat mating dance. Fun huh? Just be glad you didn’t actually walk_ in _on them. I never wanted to gouge my eyes out with a pencil more."_

Oh, _ick_. Now he had that image in his head, thanks Nightwing. 

The cat kid’s head had snapped up and gone white as snow. Yeah, Robin couldn’t blame him. He was a sweet, innocent sunshiney would-be criminal mastermind and wasn’t ready for the harsher truths of the world.

Well, except the sweet, innocent, sunshiney would-be criminal mastermind was on his feel like someone had scalded him and had snatched his fancy bola from Robin’s custody in one lightning fast swipe before Robin could grab it and had leapt for the edge of the rooftop with frantic feet.

“Oh no you _don’t_ ,” Robin lunged from his sitting position and grabbed one ankle, yanking him back and sending him face first into the gravel hard.

 _“Little Wing?”_ Nightwing’s voice came over the comms. 

“Sorry,” Robin grunted. “Just corralling Catwoman’s _dumbass_ apprentice. What the fuck was that, kid?”

 _“Who in the what, now?”_ Nightwing sounded baffled,

“Let me go!” the kid’s voice was thin, high and desperate. “You have to let me get to them! They’re gonna die!”

“What?”

 _“What now?”_ Nightwing echoed over the line.

“Please you have to let me get over there,” the kid pleaded desperately. “ _Please_. If I don’t get to them they’ll die!”

Robin blinked. “Kid, I dunno what your priest has been telling you about this sort of thing, but…”

“Arg! You’re an _idiot!”_ the kid snapped. “Why did I think you’d listen to me? You’re just like everyone else!”

“Okay, _ouch_ ,” Robin mimed a shot to the heart. “Harsh, kitty. I thought we had a real connection going there.”

The kid ignored his trolling and thumbed his comm. “Catwoman, do you read?”

“ _Busy, kitten!”_ Catwoman’s husky voice came over the line briefly before shutting off the comm.

“Selina _listen to me_ ,” the kid yelled and holy _shit,_ Catwoman had told the kid her real name? “You have to take off the ring! I know it’s hard to concentrate but the ring, two hands clasping a heart, you have to take it off now! It’s triggered by sexual energy! It’s messing with your head! If you don’t take it off it’s going to kill you! You’ll burn to death!”

The moan over the comms was his answer.

“Holy shit, are you serious?” Robin gaped.

The kid was at the very end of his patience. “You’re the one that can sense vibes, _Jason_ ,” the kid spat and then promptly used Robin’s shock to kick him off. “You tell me. What are the vibes _telling_ you about Bruce _right now_?”

_Bad, bad, bad, danger, danger, danger._

Holy _shit,_ the midget was right! “Uh, Nightwing?” He felt like events had moved well above his pay grade now, and had no compunctions about begging for help.

 _“On my way,”_ Nightwing’s voice was all business. _“Get to B. Don’t let your little friend out of your sight,”_ he added grimly.

“On it,” Robin agreed. 

It was easier said than done. The cat-eared kid had already cast his line and was off the rooftop and was swinging to the next with desperation on every line of his body. Robin had his grapple gun out and was on his literal tail seconds later. He followed the kid scaling rapidly up the side of the tallest building, the kid scuttling up his line with more bravado than expertise. He got to the top of the building and started running around the edges.

Looking for them, Robin realized. The kid didn’t have the same equipment Robin did; Batman always made sure Robin had a way to find him in the field. All the kid had to find Catwoman was a no doubt untraceable comm line or line of sight.

“Hey, kid,” Robin accessed his wrist computer and pinged B’s locator beacon. A compass point lit up on the screen, pointing the way. “Come on, this way!” 

The kid sprinted in the direction it was pointing and made to dive-and-swing off the roof. Robin grabbed him before he could; he didn’t trust the kid’s perceptions right now, he was clearly panicking. “On my back. I’m _faster!”_ He snapped as the kid opened his mouth.

The kid didn’t argue the point, just scrambled onto Robin’s back, clawed gloves digging harmlessly into his chest plate and legs locked. Robin fired his grapple and swung, hitting the comm as he did so. “B, do you copy?”

There was a weird grunt and then a _“... compromised…”_ piped down the line. It sounded like Batman had gotten the word out through clenched teeth. That added another layer of panic to the proceedings; B was apparently aware he was being compromised by _something_ and was struggling to fight it off. There wasn’t a lot that could whammy Batman that fast, even in the realm of the magical, which Robin was beginning to suspect this was. The Bat had contingencies for every kind of crazy scenario that could be imagined, even that.

Robin grappled like the wind, the kitten he’d picked up clinging to his back. 

There! In the lee of a maintenance shed on one rooftop Batman and Catwoman were grappling. Not with one another, but with Catwoman’s left hand. It was really fucking strange, because every couple of seconds they’d stop and _passionately_ kiss before breaking apart and try their best to… wrench off her glove? 

Batman was sweating. Catwoman? She was _bleeding_. From her eyes, nose and mouth. And as if that wasn’t creepy and wrong enough, she was also _glowing_ , like someone was shining a light inside of her, her skin cast like an ember - faint, but the light was clearly building. The fire was _catching_.

The air above her wavered in the heat.

Batman _wrenched_ the glove off in one ruthlessly tearing motion.

“Throw it!” the kid bellowed from Robin’s back. “Get it clear!”

The glove, one finger with a red-hot band smoking around it flew through the air onto the next rooftop, which was lower than the one they were on.

“Get down!” the kid cried, the authority ringing in his voice enough to have all the seasoned fighters hit the deck.

Just in time. A firestorm erupted from the next rooftop, heat gushing over their back as it climbed into the sky, so blazingly hot that the clouds above it boiled away.

 _“Holy volcano, is that happening where you are?”_ Nightwing yelled over the comms.

“Yes, it’s- HEY!” Robin roared as the kid scuttled off his back and was on his feet and sprinting for the roof edge - the roof edge where the _damn column of fire_ was currently blazing with no sign of stopping.

Catwoman, who’d collapsed to the rooftop, heaving great breaths as the glow within her faded, looked up in alarm at the tiny figure ran towards the edge and jumped. “KITTEN, NO!”

Robin swore violently and lunged for the rooftop even as the kid vanished into the column of fire.

Batman beat him to it. The Dark Knight, cape flared out, pitch black against the orange and yellow of the flame, was over the rood edge and following the kid into the maelstrom before either of the other two could blink.

Catwoman grabbed Robin before he could jump and hauled him back.

Then, abruptly, the fire vanished.

Blinking in the afterimages, Robin and Catwoman both stared at each other before racing to the roof edge.

Batman was crouched, half bent over, his cape curtained around something. He looked unharmed, not even singed. He flared open his cape to reveal the kid who was balled over something on the ground, capturing it under one gloved hand. Robin could see the strained whites of his teeth showing as he clenched his jaw, either in immense pain or making an immense effort, or both.

“I got it,” the kid choked out. “I got it,” He kept one hand clamped to the rooftop over a pile of ash that was all that was left of Catwoman’s glove. With the other hand he fumbled with his belt.

“Step back,” Batman ordered grimly, reaching for him. “Don’t touch it!”

“I have to neutralize it!” the kid protested, yanking out what looked like a silver plastic bag. “Hold on, I got, I got it,” with quick fingers he fisted whatever his hand was trapping against the charred rooftop and shoved it into the bag.

There was an unexpected shower of purple sparks. Batman knocked the bag out of the kid’s hands, grabbing him and hauling him away from where the bag landed with a squishy sounding plop.

“It’s okay!” the kid insisted. “It’s okay, that’s just what happens when it gets neutralized. It’s fine, see? It won’t catch fire again,” he panted, then starting coughing like a pack a day smoker.

“Kitten?” Catwoman said with slow deliberation. “Are you alright?”

“I’m... fuh-fine,” the kid insisted.

“Good. BECAUSE I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” Catwoman shouted at the top of her lungs, whipping out her, well, whip and lashing it to a drainpipe so she could swing down there herself, Robin hard on her heels. 

Catwoman stalked up to the pair, snatching the kid up by the scruff of his neck. “What was _that_ young man, I’d like to know?” she shook him furiously while the kid stared wide eyed and coughed some more. “You _clearly_ have forgotten our deal, kitten! You do _exactly_ what I say and you _don’t_ put yourself in the line of fire. _Literally_ as well as _figuratively!”_ she shook him again.

Batman and Robin looked at each other. Robin shrugged. It was times like this they were forced to realize that there was a soft center somewhere under all that leather, claws, confidence and cynicism.

“And I told you not to wear it!” the kid said in a small voice. “I told you! I said they were dangerous!”

She scowled at him, before lowering him back to the rooftop. “I had to ditch the box. Needs must, darling. You never told me they were cursed!” She looked at an array of other jewelry that was tangled around her neck, wrists and fingers. She must have simply put on all of it so she could carry it. “Is any of the rest of it going to do that?”

The kid sagged wearily. “No. All I wanted was the ring, the rest of it is just… stuff. And they’re not _cursed._ If this were just a magic problem there wouldn’t _be_ a problem. These things are… something else.” He coughed again, hard. One of his gloves was still smoking and there were cherry red patches of skin on his face where his arms hadn’t been able to cover him. 

“What are they?” Batman growled out, eyes narrowed as he stared at the kid.

“Classified,” the kid said promptly.

“Yeah, because _that’s_ going to work,” Robin murmured. 

Batman loomed up to the kid. “ _What are they?"_

The kid leaned back, so he wasn’t totally immune to the Bat Effect. “Um… Classified,” he said weakly. “But, um, when I say _classified_ I mean, you know, Classified.”

Catwoman narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re making a distinction that I’m not seeing. I think you’re going to have to explain.”

“Hey, no questions asked and none answered!” the kid replied. “That was the deal.”

Catwoman cracked her whip in warning. “Given that our no questions asked policy nearly got me turned into kitty litter, I am officially renegotiating said deal. Plus, none of our clauses obliged me to protect you from _him_ ,” she waved at Batman. “So think very carefully about what you say next.”

The kid stared at her in sad kitten betrayal.

“Told ya,” Robin grinned. “Not known for her loyalty.”

“Please,” Catwoman rolled her eyes. “Do I look like a dog?”

The kid sighed in resignation. “Fine. I didn’t want to have to do this.” He grunted as he peeled off his gloves.

“Holy _shit_ kid, your hand!” Robin burst out.

The kid grimaced at the offending appendage, which had a cherry red ring on the palm, dusted in angry blisters. Honestly, it didn’t look as bad as it could have been, considering, but the fact that the doohickey that was apparently self combustible had been hot enough to sear through a layer of armor in under three seconds was not lost on the audience. “It’s okay. I brought some burn cream along.” The kid apparently thought it required no more attention than that and started patting his way through various compartments. “Where did I…” he drew out a familiar shape.

 _“Drop it!”_ Batman barked a hairsbreadth ahead of Robin, who had tensed up. Catwoman merely looked curious.

The kid stared at them, baffled, gun in hand. “What? Oh,” he appeared to notice he was _holding a fucking gun_. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to shoot you or anything!”

“Then I’ll just take _that_ ,” a blue striped hand reached around the kid and snatched it from his grip before he could do more than widen his eyes. Nightwing beamed at the group from where he’d successfully ninja’d up to them.

 _Giant showoff_ , Jason snorted internally, relaxing again.

“This isn’t a toy, you know,” he said to the kid sternly, shaking said toy.

It didn’t land in the slightest. “Hi Nightwing!” He chirped, beaming. “Nice to meet you! I’m a big fan!”

Robin scowled. The kid was _his_ fan. He’d said so. “What the fuck were you doing with a gun? I thought you weren’t a criminal!” He said accusingly.

“It’s not actually a gun!” the kid protested. 

“Handle, trigger, barrel,” Nightwing counted them off. “It sure _looks_ like a gun, tiny cat person.” He frowned at it. “Mind you… I’ve never seen one made of glass before.”

“ _What?!"_ Robin gaped, circling around to see. “What the fuck? Why is the barrel made of fucking glass? It looks like a ray gun some propmaster built in the twenties!”

“Eighteen nineties, actually,” the kid corrected, still digging in pockets. “It’s not a gun. It’s a Tesla. It’s sort of a stun gun, I guess.”

They all looked at the gun. Robin spoke for all of them “What the fuck now?”

The kid was placid in the face of their stares. “Try it.”

Robin and Nightwing looked at each other.

“Boys,” Batman’s voice held a warning. “Don’t…”

Nightwing, the only one of them with official firearms certification, whipped the barrel towards a relatively safe target and squeezed the trigger.

Robin gaped in the afterimages as a bolt of what looked like a plasma made of lightning shot out of the barrel and hit the wall with a crackle, arcs briefly flickering and dancing across it. 

“What the fuck… you have a fucking ray gun?” he scowled, because kids should not be carrying working guns and furthermore it was a really cool pew-pew gun right out of his childhood fantasies and also to hell with all of B’s anti-gun lectures, he _really_ wanted one.

Maybe B would let them confiscate it?

“Standard issue field equipment,” the kid replied with all the smugness of one who has a cool sci-fi ray gun towards a peon who didn’t.

“Standard issue by _who_?” Batman growled, a sure sign he was nearing the end of his patience. 

In reply, the kid shoved what looked like a folded leather wallet at him. “The United States Secret Service,” he said, his authoritative declaration slightly ruined by his adorable cat ears slipping slightly to the side. 

Nightwing had literal hearts in his eyes. Honestly, Robin wasn’t much better.

“As a sworn in federal agent I’m going to have to ask you to return my property in good order,” the kid spoke like they couldn’t tell his voice had barely started to break with puberty blues. “And I am also taking the ring as it is now under the auspices of the US Government.”

They all stared at him. Then Robin and Nightwing burst out laughing. “Oh my god, kid, that was the worst one yet,” Robin ruffled his adorable head while the kid irritably tried to shrug him off.

“B, your _face_ ,” Nightwing was doubled over after seeing Batman’s constipated expression. “Tell me we’re adopting this one, anyone who can put that expression on your face the first time out is _clearly_ one of us.”

The kid huffed and crossed his arms, which was not helping his anti-cute stance. “It _isn’t_ a joke. I’m a federal agent. Special Hereditary Services, seconded to the Treasury Department.” And then scowled adorably when they laughed harder.

Catwoman gave the Bat a smirk and neatly palmed the wallet from him as she did. Her eyebrows rose slightly as she looked in the wallet. “It’s a real badge, at least,” she said idly as she removed it from the holster and turned it over.

“Real?” Batman frowned as he peered closer.

“Trust me darling, I know real badges from fakes,” Catwoman turned it over in her hands. “This is a real deal, bonafide Secret Service badge.” 

“Hn,” Batman looked over the card. “ _The bearer of this card is an authorized member of the Secret Service Of the United States - Special Services, Department Of The Treasury._ No photo ID?” he asked the kid, because he clearly didn’t buy it either.

“ _Classified department_ ,” the kid said with strained patience, glaring at their grinning faces.

Batman raised an eyebrow under the cowl. The kid held his gaze.

And held it.

And held it.

(Robin might have been a little impressed).

Batman thumbed his comm. He must have put it on speakerphone because a dial tone rang out of the wrist computer. 

The line connected. _“Secret Service, Investigations Department Atlantic City. This is Agent B. Rowe.”_

“Rowe,” Batman growled. “It’s me.”

_“Holy shit. Uh, hello sir. Is there another threat assessment?”_

“I’ve found a Service agent’s badge in Gotham,” Batman held the kid’s gaze. “Your field office closed here ten years ago, I need to know who it belongs to.”

 _“There’s nothing going on in Gotham right now_ ,” Rowe sounded puzzled. _“Badge number?”_

Batman gave it, maintaining his stare at the kid, who was mulishly not backing down, blushing or looking away.

The sound of Rowe typing at the other end of the line stopped. _“Oh."_ The entire tone of his voice completely one-eightied in that one tiny word.

“Oh, what?” Batman growled.

_“You, uh… you got the badge from a kid, right?”_

Robin blinked. 

“Yes,” nothing in his iron tone suggested Batman was rapidly getting confused, but he was clearly rapidly getting confused.

_“Okay, well, you need to give it back to him and let him take… whatever thingie he’s trying to take with him. It’s now a seized asset of the Treasury.”_

Silence.

Then “What the _actual FUCK_?” Robin screamed even as the kid turned his nose up and started radiating the smug assurance of one whose authority has been backed up. 

Batman held up a hand. “Explain,” he barked at Rowe.

 _“I can’t,”_ Rowe replied helplessly. _“I mean I literally can’t explain this. Those are the instructions on the file, I’m just reading them off a screen. The classification level is a hundred levels above what I can even contemplate let alone access. There is a contact on the file that you can go to in case of emerg-... oh. It’s_ those _guys,”_ there was a welter of exhausted resignation in Rowe’s voice. _“Sorry, this is way above me. This is a Warehouse 13 problem. Ask the kid to contact his superior, he should have the means._ Don’t _come back to me with this, I can’t help you.”_ And then the line disconnected. 

Silence. Then the kid said, with obvious relish, “I _told_ you so.”

Silence. Then Catwoman erupted into mad cackles of glee at their expressions. 

“You _cannot_ be a federal agent. You’re fucking _five!”_ Robin glared at the kid.

The kid shrugged with what Robin thought was deliberate impudence. “And yet, here we are. Tesla, please?” he boldly held out his hand to Nightwing, who very carefully completely failed to hand over said Tesla.

“B?” Nightwing asked uncertainly. “I think I might need some advice on this one.”

“Special _Hereditary_ Services, you said,” Batman said, eyes narrowed.

For the skin of a second, the kid looked panicked. “Did I say that? I don’t think I said that!” The nonchalance would have landed better if the kid’s pitch hadn’t hit the stratosphere.

“Hell yeah, you said that,” Robin pointed an accusing finger. “And you told me your parents are dead!”

They all looked at Catwoman. She held up her hands. “He came to find me,” she informed them levelly. “He passed all my tests, and that made him interesting. He’s been pretty vague on the subject of his home life. And also on the fact that he has, somehow, conned me into working for the federal government.” She glared at the kid, who wilted under it.

“Not working for them,” he muttered. “You’re listed as a consultant. And you _did_ get paid!”

“A government job,” Catwoman said in tones that suggested she’d rather lick a toilet seat.

“Given the administration we’re living under, technically that still makes you a bad guy?” the kid tried hopefully.

“That doesn’t _help_.”

Batman pinched the bridge of his nose. Even his immunity to Gotham weird didn’t cover this. “We’re going back to base. You,” he jabbed a finger at the kid. “Are coming with us.”

“You can’t do that!” the kid protested. “That’s interfering with a federal investigation. I could charge you with… with affray!”

“Affray is violence in a public place,” Nightwing replied, grinning at the sheer cuteness of the cat kid getting all puffed up. “You’re thinking of obstruction.”

“Right! That!”

Silence.

Then they all started laughing at him. Well, not Batman. He wasn't a laugher. 

“Yeah, no, that ain’t gonna fly, Catboy,” Robin said between chuckles. 

“My name isn’t _Catboy_.”

“But you know a lot of names, don’t you,” Robin smirked. “ _Our_ names, for one.”

Batman looked at him sharply even as the kid’s face contorted in panic.

“That’s right,” Robin said with relish. “He popped them out. Our daytime ones, in case you’re wondering.”

“ _Pixiebob_ ,” Catwoman admonished fondly. “What have I told you about showing your cleverness?”

The kid went scarlet.

“ _Pixiebob_?” Robin said with glee.

“Pixiebob?” Nightwing echoed, grinning at the kid’s red hot face.

“One of my conditions,” Catwoman smiled. “I picked the name. Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Pixie,” she ruffled his hair. “It’s a perfectly respectable breed.”

Pixiebob shut down. “I’m just going to collect my artefact and go now. See you Monday, Catwoman,” he muttered, heading for the dropped and almost forgotten silver bag with it’s deadly ring. 

“If you don’t get adopted before then,” she shot a smirk at Batman who rolled his eyes.

Pixiebob’s shoulders were up around his ears.

“Aww, don’t sweat it, _Pixiebob_ ,” Robin said with relish just to watch the kid adorably pout at him. He dropped an arm around the kid’s shoulder and grinned brightly. “You and I are gonna be _bestest friends_ from now on.” And they were, because fuck a kid this age running around in a catsuit without adult supervision. Catwoman only half-counted.

Pixiebob sighed.


End file.
